Category: Memories

Growing up, when my father moved us from California to Washington, I thought the world had ended. Moving was nothing new, we did that here and there, but we never went too far from the last location.

Washington welcomed me with chicken pox and food poisoning. Thankfully, not at the same time. Besides that, Washington felt like a glove that didn’t fit (Dear O.J….). And, it was a completely different environment. As a child when it rained in California, we had recess inside. In Washington they let you play in the rain?! They had never heard of such a thing as “canceling recess.” In California, fire and earthquake drills meant you sat outside on the grass for nearly an hour. Washington had you out and back in under ten minutes. (You didn’t have time to look for four leaf clovers!!)

As an adult, moving to Arizona felt like the closest thing to coming home as I could get.

It had been too many years to count when I finally went “home” at the beginning of this year. But once I got California, something odd happened. It didn’t feel any different than any other place to me, it didn’t feel like I went home. What had happened?

I visited my mom’s home (since my parents divorced) from my childhood and also visited her grave site. Those moments were magical. Yet, the second I left that location I was a fish out of water. I visited the beach, and although dearly missed, it didn’t feel the same. Maybe because I was no longer the same.

I know for some home is a feeling, not necessarily a place. I agree.

Funny thing is, I’ve come to understand a different home. A place I never thought I would consider home. I also grew to learn that home is a feeling you can have when you are with a person. And that, is the best home anyone can get ever have.

The other day, I drove past a group of school children playing parachute. It took everything I had not to pull over, run across the field and beg them to let me play. Okay, so while I wanted to, I also didn’t want the cops called on me for chasing up to a bunch of kids.

In school I was not liked, as in I was not a welcomed friend. I was an outcast, for whatever reason, I don’t remember. Maybe it was my clothes, or my personality, I cannot say now, or then.

When it came to group activities in school I was always the last picked. At times other kids were even instructed to pick me. Talk about embarrassing. So going P.E. was my ultimate fear, and not because of the uniforms.

It must have been about 4th or 5th grade when I was introduced to the parachute game. When Mr. Clark pulled the parachute out of the multicolored bag I was in full wonderment of what would happen next.

For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about let me explain. The parachute was gigantic to a eight year old, especially one as short as me. It had handles all around it, enough for everyone, so no one was left out, including me. Everyone had to work together and there was zero room to exclude anyone, everyone was equal because they had to be. The parachute games only worked if everyone participated.

Every time the parachute came out, we played the same games, and I loved a routine. Mr. Clark would throw a bunch of Nerf balls on top and we all had to shake up and down in unison to get them to fly as high as they would go. Then Mr. Clark would call your name and another student and you had to run and switch places. We would also lift it up and then get under it, sitting on our handle as the center stayed up in the air and the colors filtered all around.

Yet, my most favorite was when you got to lay in the the middle, on your back, and all the kids would lower it up and down as the colors appeared to explode around you like a sky full of stars.

So, driving past these kids and that big, colorful parachute caused me to smile. I hoped that any kids feeling like I did were able to fit in, even if only for thirty minutes.

Recently I overheard someone ask another what their favorite Christmas present was. It got me thinking, what was mine?

I thought, a rather long time.

Turns out I remember more about other things, than what the gifts were.

I thought some more and it finally came to me.

My favorite gift was not from a person at all, but from mother nature.

My father had moved us from sunny southern California to rainy cold Washington. I was beyond upset, having gotten not only food positioning the first day at my new school, but also chicken pox. So, I was pretty sure nothing good was ever going to come from Washington.

Christmas morning 1991 came and I woke, to the first time ever…to snow! And it was still snowing…ON CHRISTMAS MORNING! I mean a ton of snow had fallen over night, but it had yet to stop.

My father insisted that I open one present before I ran outside. It was a disposable camera.

Thank you all for your visits to my blog through out 2017. I hope my posts have inspired, informed, taught, and provided a smile. I will be on blog hiatus for the rest of December, returning with a new look come January (as I do every year). I wish y’all a wonderful Christmas and a bright New Year. Write to you in 2018.

When you were a kid there was always a special place you loved the most. As an adult, when the setting is just right and you close your eyes, it brings you back in a second. The feeling of calmness, peace for your one special place.

Mine is my mom’s home. It was as a child, and to this day, I can close my eyes and feel the heaviness of love on my heart. Imagine with me, if you please….
Southern California, summer.

Box fan resting on brown pattern carpet, its noise humming through the air. A kitchen with two exits so one could run around in circles and never get caught.
Embossed golden tack strip transiting the linoleum to the carpet.

A squeaky screen door that slowed down just before it shut, so you had to physically pull it an inch to get the flimsy latch to clip.
Light from the sun in all the right places.

My own bedroom, with books I could not read and a Barbie wonderland of clothes, tiny hair brushes, and mismatched pairs of hot pink heels.

A bold yellow slip-n-slide stretching the length of the grass out back, with a peach tree at the end. Plastic blue pool with capsized Barbies. Wet feet leaving prints on the concrete.

Grape push-ups, jammies, and Mary Poppins for the hundredth time.

Badminton in the front yard, running through sprinklers on the side yard. Towels and sheets hung on the line by the lemon and lime tree. Sun faded Big Wheel.

This was and remains my happy place, even if only reachable by memory.

It was summer, and there was a odd rainstorm. But the swimming lesson at the local neighborhood pool had not been canceled. The water was freezing and my teeth chattered. Not to mention, I hated swimming lessons, because I was always being corrected.

In fact, I hated all lessons, swimming, piano, tennis, gymnastics, volleyball, tap dance, 4H shooting, modeling, violin, karate, and guitar. Why? Because the teachers spent the majority of the time yelling at me that I just was not getting it and not doing it right.

Back to the Red Vines. On this day, my fellow swim mates were just as cold as me and thus sucked at swimming that day. I was finally on an even playing field. My whole body was freezing, I was pruning at the finger tips. The teacher said if we swam two more laps we could be done for the session and get 2 Red Vines.

It was game on! There was zero candy within my reach at home so this was my chance. I swam like a mermaid and actually didn’t come in last! 2 Red Vines please! I sat there, wrapped in a towel savoring those red rubber sticks, while the rain dumped from the sky.

Christmas lists to Santa are a staple of childhood. I remember making one each year. I soon discovered that I was only receiving about two items from my list. I don’t remember the age when I so-called wised up, but I had grown rather disappointed that every year I made a big list and barely got anything off it. So, I made my request shorter, going from maybe 13 items to about 5. In doing so when Santa visited I felt like I received “more” of what I wanted. I guess it’s like cookie experiment they do with children, the option of 1 cookie or one cookie broken into 3 pieces, the child usually picks the 3 pieces even though it’s the same size, because it looks like more.

A special thank you to all my visitors in 2015 for having me on “your list”and the support you have shown by reading, liking and sharing the topics I post.

Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas and New Year. See y’all in 2016 🙂

*****With a New Year is upon us that means the look of my blog will change. I simply love having this change every year. Of course the content of my blog will remain the same, a little bit of everything.

The house has not been the same since you left. The skies have been cloudy since your peaceful end, they must know the gray in my heart. A part of me thinks that you are hiding in a different room and I will see you in a second. Another part of me thinks that you, like a grown child, have left for college and I will see you as soon as you run out of clean clothes. The saddest part of me knows I will never see you again, this is the part that makes me cry.

I know you are in a better place, Yet my heart is in the worst place

I loved you with all I had, And you loved me without question, You will remain loved

Your spirit was sweet, It will remain no doubt

You will never be replaced, That is impossible

You will never be forgotten, Remaining a part of this family in spirit